


The Crouched, Parched Heart

by amoama



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/pseuds/amoama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Walt walked onto the best team in Recon with barely six months under his belt. Guys cursed his luck to his face, muttering about the Iceman’s reputation.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crouched, Parched Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydriotaphia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydriotaphia/gifts).



Becoming Recon is like becoming a rock star. That’s how it can seem, anyways. You become a Marine and you’re proud and you think you’ve done pretty good, but you soon start to realize there’s more to it than getting in the door, and that being a Marine isn’t all that. Being a Marine is country music – which, of course, is fucking gay. Walt is a walking testament to that, you could say. Except there’s as many gay people in country music as there are in the Marines, which is either the usual amount, or zero, depending on whether you live in reality or the fucked up DADT-logic universe. Walt doesn’t worry about it too much. He plans to get on and do what he’s gotta do. He’s learned that much. He’s here for the long haul; not one tour and out. He needs to graft hard and carve out a career. 

So he was a Marine and that was great but it wasn’t rock star. The guys in Recon moved like predators and looked at you like you were a waspish irritant that they could barely be bothered to splat. But more than that, they looked like they had the fucking answers and Walt wanted in on that. After Basic, Walt felt taller, broader, tougher, and as chicken-shit scared as ever. He was trained for every eventuality, prepared for hell, but still untested. Faking it and desperate to make good on all the investment when the time came. He might not have been as moto as some of the Marines but no one was completely unsusceptible either. 

Walt walked onto the best team in Recon with barely six months under his belt. Guys cursed his luck to his face, muttering about the Iceman’s reputation. Sure, in some ways it was intimidating, but Walt’s always been the kind of guy that loves the adrenaline, that gets excited about stupid shit, and this was reputation-making shit right here. Besides it’s rare you truly get the chance to learn from the best. 

Walt’s a _shut up and do your job_ sort of Marine but he learns lots from watching, always has. His first time in Qube he drank one beer and kept his back to the wall the entire night but by the end of that beer he knew how to move like the hottest guys in the place. He learnt how to shoot by watching his dad at the police range long before he ever touched a firearm. He’s always been able to take a lot in. His place in Team One, on the 50-cal, isn’t just because he’s been trained on that gun, it’s because his eyes are sharp and he intends to use those eyes to get everything he can out of this experience.

**

At first it’s good to be in Poke’s victor; he’s still intimidating as fuck but he’s not the Iceman, or Ray Person, for that matter. To Walt’s eyes the two of them are flawless together, like they speak their own language, and Walt’s glad he has Poke as a translator. The thing about Brad Colbert as a team leader is that it doesn’t seem like he’s doing much of anything. He doesn’t yell at them, he doesn’t lead a crazy amount of drills or anything showy at all. But the whole team just feels the responsibility of being in Brad’s team. This is their chance to be the best. Letting Brad down is the terror of Walt’s life from day one in Bravo Two. He respects the LT and all but even he’s way too far up the command chain for Walt to really stress. He’s got Brad and Poke and any other number of guys who will step in and take the heat for him with any officer. Brad, though, Brad’s watching. Walt can feel his approval when it settles on him and he feels the pauses too, when he isn’t getting it right and Brad’s thinking through the best way to approach whatever the problem is. Sometimes there’s instructions straight away, adjustments to be made or advice that Walt tries to take on board so Brad never has to repeat himself. Sometimes it’s later on, direct, or through Poke. Perhaps, “Walt, I noticed you don’t keep your line of sight steady when you run left,” or something equally pedantic that betrays an incomparable ability to pick up the tiniest details. Everything with Brad is about maintaining combat effectiveness at the highest level. 

Brad doesn’t just watch, he listens too, Walt notices. No matter what else he’s doing, no matter how much or how little he participates in the conversation, he hears it all. It means Walt always feels that tiny element of self-consciousness in Brad’s presence, aware that everything he says is being filed away by the Iceman. It doesn’t stop him saying stupid shit or whatever, that’s practically part of what it means to be a Marine. It’s just that sometimes he says it, like Ray does, in the hope that somewhere behind him Brad will chuckle quietly. A couple of times Ray’s said something and it’s made Walt laugh and he hasn’t been able to stop himself checking if Brad’s laughing too. He’s caught Brad’s eye once or twice as they’ve both been smiling, and it’s a strange sort of connection, rueful and long-suffering, but still a solid copy nonetheless. 

**

Walt is full of jangling nerves and excitement that war is looking increasingly likely. They get Trombley on the team just before they head off to Iraq and he’s pleased as all fuck not to be the FNG anymore. Walt would be jealous of Trombley’s seat right behind Ray and Brad but that’s a retarded fucking emotion and also he likes being up on the 50-cal. He’ll be exposed up there but it’ll be real and they all know Trombley’s got that spot because it’s the safest fucking spot on the entire platoon. 

**

Mathilda is hot and smelly and full of amped up guys with no way to get the adrenaline out of their systems. No one knows what the fuck to expect. Walt tries to take it all as seriously as Brad but it doesn’t feel possible yet. He can’t stop thinking to himself he’s going to be in a war and remembering all the stories that got passed around of these guys in Afghanistan and Somalia. He’s hoping that some of the stories this time are going to involve him. 

Somehow he got himself to the front line and he thinks maybe next time he’ll look as calm as some of the more experienced guys, how a devil dog is supposed to hold it, but right now it’s all he can do to clamp down on his grin and keep his fucking tongue in his fucking mouth. He gets how some guys find they get hard, he’s so full of excitement jacking off is basically all he can think of to do to square himself away. When he does hit the latrines he doesn’t even attempt to keep his thoughts DADT-protected he just pictures his fucking team leader standing right in front of him ordering him to jerk off and watching him do it, his attention passive but fixed, like always. It does it for Walt like nothing else right now and he can’t even feel guilty about it. It is what it is and he is who he is. He’s a goddamn Recon Marine and he’s going to fucking war. 

**

They’re outside Nasiriyah when Walt gets switched to Brad’s humvee. It’s no big thing, Gabe does have more experience on the 50-cal and Walt likes the Mark-19 fine as long as it doesn’t stiffen up and jam on him. He grabs his gear and clambers into the victor. It smells different, closer and kinda gross, because of the roof. There’s a better seat then he had before. He gets himself settled and even though he’s kinda shitting himself about going through the town soon he can’t help smiling. He listens quietly to Ray bitching on to impress Rolling Stone and he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. 

Before he gets back in the humvee Brad leans over the top, stretching up to shake Walt’s hand. Brad’s height brings him further into Walt’s space then he thought it would, “Welcome to Two-One,” Brad says, all quiet and serious, like this is something important. Brad has a good sense of occasion sometimes and Walt likes that. It fits with what Walt was feeling about his move. Not like it’s a promotion, just that he has value here. It’s good, is what it is, and it makes Walt smile down at Brad and remember to say thank you like his mom taught him. Brad gives him a small smile back, “See you on the other side,” he says, and Walt remembers, oh shit, yeah. Nasiriyah. 

**

Brad hands him lube for the Mark-19 with a wink and a smirk. “The LT managed to come up with some currency some dicksuck in RCT-One found appealing,” he says.

“Yeah,” Walt says, falling in with Brad’s happier mood, “well, thank fuck for those pretty eyes of his.” 

“Oh, sure, it was his eyes, all right.” Brad’s eyebrows raise again and they’re smiling at each other in that way that keeps happening, where there’s more that they’re not saying but doesn’t need verbalizing. 

“This is great, Brad, thanks,” Walt tells him, losing track of the banter. 

“Use it sparingly, Walt, none of that one-finger-at-a-time crap you like at home, this needs to last.” 

Walt starts, his eyes flick down Brad’s body accidentally and he gets caught doing it. He’s usually better at keeping his shit locked down or passing it off as standard Marine homoerotic lechery but he loses track of himself for a minute and Brad clocks it. Walt flushes but Brad just smiles kindly at him and puts his hand on Walt’s shoulder. “You gotta keep that shit stowed, Walt, you know that.”

Walt nods, feeling like he ought to be mortified but he isn’t. He flushes a little because there’s a heat to Brad’s gaze and Brad’s thumb is rubbing up against his neck. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice a little lower than usual. 

Brad gives him one final cryptic stare that Walt knows how to read in other contexts but not from his TL in butt-fuck Iraq, excuse the expression. “Good,” Brad says, and then he’s gone and the lube is in Walt’s hand and he grins because his life just got 100% better thanks to this tiny little tin of grease. 

**

The sleep situation gets worse and worse. Any shuteye Walt’s had was fitful at best and way over 30 hours ago. Brad notices. He keeps finding excuses to pull Walt down off the gun or feed him up. Walt’s dazed from lack of sleep and trying to snap back into alertness. He eats even less then the other guys because he can’t always find someone to swap his peanut butter MREs. He keeps hoping he’ll get a jalapeño and cheese so he can swap it with Brad but one of those babies is pretty much the Holy Grail right now. Walt suspects the H & S guys of hoarding them. After Muwaffaqiyah they’re all down about losing Pappy and pissed at the retardation of the whole attempt on the bridge. It’s quiet and no one’s cracking jokes in quite the same way. Walt’s skin itches with it and Brad’s concern feels cloying suddenly. Walt doesn’t want to be treated like the baby of the team; he wants them to be able to rely on him. 

They set up a road block north of the town. 

The car keeps coming and Walt shoots. 

Brad sits him down in Reporter’s seat. His mind has slowed down and he sees the car coming towards them over and over. Brad’s talking but Walt doesn’t really hear him. The words don’t mean anything but Brad’s eyes and Brad’s voice say he’s gutted. 

**

Brad’s been obsessed with the ROE for days now and that’s one of the things that keeps circling Walt’s mind. Brad insisting that they try everything they can to avoid killing civilians. 

Walt’s always been about hitting targets and blowing shit up; that’s always been cool. This isn’t like that. He remembers how proud he was of his marksmanship, of getting promoted to the 50-cal. Now all he hears is Trombley jacking off over his shooting and it feels dirty. His own rifle is suddenly his worst enemy. 

He can feel Brad watching him, more than any of the others, and his worry radiates all through Walt but there’s nothing he can do to reassure Brad. 

**

Most of the guys in the other teams have the shits but for some reason Walt’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with him at all except he shot a guy who was most likely just driving his car through his home town; and Walt shot him against Brad’s orders. It sucks.

** 

Outside Al Kut they see a ton of refugees who’ve walked over 100 miles from Baghdad. No one says anything about being happy to be liberated but they say _shukran_ for water and a lift. Someone tries to give Brad a baby, though, and that makes Walt smile for a minute. It’s strange when he starts to feel it less, when he starts to feel normal again. He chases the numbness a little longer, though, because it doesn’t seem right that this is something you just get over. He watches Brad cavort through the grass at the POG camp, unleashing everything he can, and Walt gets that’s what he needs too. He’s just less certain he deserves it. 

**

In Baghdad it’s like Brad’s taken on all of the melancholy Walt just shrugged off and Ray’s as hormonal as Walt’s mom going through The Change. He should feel happy that they made it but mostly he just wants his team back to normal. Brad looks at him sadly now and walks away first because there’s just not that much to say. This isn’t how Walt thought it would go when they first rolled out of Mathilda. 

Slowly they creep back towards business as usual. There’s a sense of finality to everything now, a rounding up. Walt tries to think about what they’ve achieved and what it might mean. He doesn’t have too many answers and when he looks to Brad for them all he sees is the same disillusion tempered by an air of cynicism that’s probably a little more bitter then Brad intends it to be. Walt looks around and he can see the guys who won’t be coming back. The LT, Ray, Holsey, Leon – their heads are half out already. This war will be over for them soon. Not for Walt, not for Brad, not for Doc either and some of the others. This thing in Iraq isn’t sorted yet, you can see that every day out on the streets. Walt knows he’ll be back before too long. 

It’s funny how this hasn’t changed his mind about the Marines. Even though he fucked up and the whole invasion was a shitshow, it doesn’t change the fact that this is his job. He knows better than before that he can make it and that the Marines need guys like him. Guys who care about getting it right, just like Brad does, and that’s better than being like Trombley or the guys from Delta or any other fucking psychos the Army is likely to re-up. 

**

Brad approaches him in the hangar while they wait for the order to load up onto the plane. They’ve got their lift home at last. Marines are milling around everywhere but Walt’s away from everybody, sitting on the floor with his knees scrunched up to his chest. Brad gets down beside him, his long legs folding up next to Walt’s. 

“How’s my Hasser?” Brad asks in a tone that makes Walt roll his eyes by default. He puts his hand on the floor, flat, fingers splayed between him and Brad. 

“Doing good, Brad, thanks,” he replies. 

“That’s good, Walt. You did good. I was happy to have you on my team. I want you to know that. I’d always be happy to have you on my team. You’d make a great Recon Marine, if we ever got any legit Recon missions, that is.”

“Yeah, Brad,” Walt hesitates, struggling to match Brad’s sincerity level because of how embarrassed he kinda is. He wants to say it was an honor or a privilege or something like that but that’s too prosaic to cover it somehow. “Thanks,” he manages. 

“No problem,” Brad smiles at him, just half of his face, like he’s begrudging giving it away. It’s the kind of smile that makes Walt think about kissing him which is sort of a great thought because he hasn’t really had the chance to think about that at all lately. Walt gives him a grin in return. The mega-wattage version just because, suddenly, he can. Brad’s smile widens in return and he shakes his head a little. 

“Hasser,” he says, like he’s trying to be disapproving. Ludicrously, it makes Walt want to giggle. 

“Fuck! That smile,” Brad says. He looks down for a second, collecting himself almost, and then he looks back up at Walt, “I’d kiss it right off your face if we weren’t 10 seconds from being forced onto a military aircraft with 500 other guys.”

Walt goes hot all over, lets Brad see him shiver a little at the thought. He feels a bit shy about it but he says, “Maybe when we get back?”

Brad gives him one more rueful glance, as if this is all somehow Walt’s fault, but he says, “Yeah, maybe that’d be good.” Brad’s hand drops down between them, settles over Walt’s for one fleeting second and entwines their fingers for a quick squeeze and then he’s up and gone and Walt’s left to thunk his head back against the wall. 

It’s not much but it’s more than enough to get Walt through for now. He’s got so much to process and he doesn’t know where to begin. All he knows is that he’d been dreading leaving the guys and going home and getting lost in his jumble of memories of the last few weeks and now there’s definitely something to look forward to. 

“Walt, come the fuck on, you’re holding up the fucking plane!” Ray calls, even though there’s about 300 guys still waiting to get on. Walt hoists himself back to his feet and sits himself down next to Ray. Ray elbows him in the ribs and Walt buckles up. 

Finally they hit the runway and Ray counts himself in and starts singing, “Let’s start this over, it’s not like we’re dead. Was it something I did? Was it something you said?” Walt isn’t religious about Avril lyrics so he just beatboxes along gently while Ray screeches out the tune. Brad’s opposite humming along indulgently, Walt can see he’s about to join in as soon as they get to the chorus. 

It comes just as the plane takes off.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to R. for the beta. <333
> 
> The title is from the Carol Ann Duffy poem, _You_. 
> 
> "Falling in love   
> is glamorous hell; the crouched, parched heart  
> like a tiger ready to kill; a flame's fierce licks under the skin.  
> Into my life, larger than life, beautiful, you strolled in."


End file.
